


Underneath His Skirt

by thusspakekate (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Crossdressing, F/M, School Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thusspakekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pinch of hastily transfigured shoes; the elastic snap of a knee sock; the graze of a woolen skirt against his well-muscled thigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath His Skirt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP-Kinkfest 2013.

Lucius stole into the guest chambers with a sense of reckless danger. He’d spent the entire holiday trying to fight this urge, but the pull was too strong for even a man of his willpower to resist. Every time he’d walked by the shuttered doors these past few weeks, his mind had wandered inside. Tonight, the allure was too great. His resolve had finally snapped.

Even though the war was over and his family was safe, the memories still haunted him: his time in Azkaban, his imprisonment in his own home, the fear he felt for the lives of his wife and son. The compounded weight of those burdensome years pressed upon him; guilt and shame and horror still lingered in the shadows. 

He needed this small escape now more than ever, no matter how temporary it may be.

His hands trembled as he dug through her trunk, knowing he didn’t have much time. Draco and Pansy had left for Knockturn Alley an hour ago and their errands wouldn’t take them much longer. He shouldn’t have dallied, shouldn’t have tried to deny himself this. 

When his fingers wrapped around the familiar feel of scratchy wool, he let out a sigh of great relief.

The pinch of hastily transfigured shoes; the elastic snap of a knee sock; the graze of a woolen skirt against his well-muscled thigh. 

Lucius delighted in the change of textures that played beneath his fingertips as his hand traveled the length of his own leg, sliding from leather to cotton to flesh. The knickers hidden beneath the skirt cradled him, their fit tight and reassuring. His chest felt squeezed by the too small band of the brassiere, its soft cotton cups stretched across his pectoral muscles. 

He reached up to adjust the silver and green tie, fingers lingering for a moment at the hollow of his throat.

He turned to the mirror and admired his reflection. His form was decidedly male, there was no denying that, but the harsh, masculine planes of his body were softened by the gentle caress of the girl’s clothing. The current uniforms weren’t that different from what he remembered from his time at Hogwarts. Perhaps the hemlines had risen an inch or two to keep pace with the changing times, but other than that, he found comfort in their familiarity.

Floral perfume lingered in the fabric of the jumper, transporting him back to the days his own youth, when he’d sat in the Slytherin common room after hours and done his best to coax Narcissa out this very ensemble. Those were simpler times: when his future was bright, full of endless potential and bountiful promise. 

He’d been brought low by the path he’d chosen as an adult, but cocooned in the trappings of adolescent innocence, he was allowed a temporary reprieve from his sins.

The gaze reflected in the mirror was longing and bittersweet. Tonight was his final opportunity to steal this comfort, and he wished he’d acted sooner. In the morning, a scarlet steam engine would roll out of King’s Cross station, taking his son, his son’s girlfriend, and her blessed school trunk with it. This would be their last departure from the station and if Pansy returned to visit the Manor this summer, she wouldn’t be bringing her schoolgirl accoutrement with her.

Lucius smoothed the pleats of the skirt, his fingers dipping below the hem to ghost across his thighs, raising a line of gooseflesh. He knew he didn’t have time for a slow tease, that he should get on with it and get out, but the thought of rushing these stolen moments seemed somehow wrong. This feeling -- this _preciousness_ \-- was meant to be savoured. 

Without warning, there was the loud bang of the door being shoved open, swinging wide on its hinges to collide with the wall behind it. Lucius froze, his heart skipping a wild beat. His eyes shot up to the mirror, where he saw the reflection of Pansy Parkinson framed in the doorway behind him, an expression of surprised etched onto her face. Their eyes met in the mirror and for a tortuously long moment they stared at each other, unmoving.

The tension broke with Pansy’s shrill squeak. “Sorry!” she cried, groping blindly for the door handle. In another second she was gone, the door closing loudly behind her.

Lucius cursed to himself and began to disrobe frantically. He tried to undo the buckled shoes, but his hands were shaking too violently for any sort of coordination. He thought he might have to just rip the damn buckles off. 

In his haste, he didn’t hear the quiet latch of the door reopening or notice the curious face that peered in at him through the crack.

He did, however, notice her reflection in the mirror as she snuck up behind him. Lucius snapped to attention, his heart thumping wildly as she approached, her hands raised in a gesture of placation. His owns hands moved to cover his erection, hoping to hide his shame even as heat flooded his face.

He felt like a deer caught in a predator’s eyeline. But that was silly, he reasoned; she wasn’t a predator, she was an eighteen year old girl who doodled in the margin of her notes and sent his son a singing valentine each February. He, a grown man who had stared into the literal face of evil, had nothing to fear from her -- nothing that couldn’t be solved by a quickly cast _Obliviate_ , anyway.

“Mister Malfoy,” she said cautiously as she reached out a hesitant hand. Her fingers curled around the ends of his hair where it fell to his shoulders. “May I?”

Lucius turned his head slightly so he could watch her over his shoulder, unsure of what she was asking. He made no other moves, but Pansy took his silence as a sign of consent. She slid a finger from the apex of his head down to the nape of his neck, her fingernail scraping a soft line across his scalp as it went. Pushing one half of his long hair over his shoulder, she gathered the other section and began to twist the strands, her small hands moving nimbly.

“Pansy,” Lucius said, his voice thick and hoarse, “what do you think you are doing?”

She looked up for a moment, as if surprised by the sound of his voice. Quickly, she dropped his gaze and stared at her hands as they worked. In a quiet voice she said, “When I was a little girl, my mother used to plait my hair every morning. She said a girl’s strength was in her hair.”

She conjured a piece of green ribbon and used it to bind the end of the plait. Without speaking, she moved to the other section of hair. Lucius watched her, searching her face for any sign of what she was thinking, but her expression remained carefully blank.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as she tied off the second plait. 

Pansy paused and considered him. “My mother also used to tell me not to ask too many questions,” she answered evasively. “She said it was unbecoming of a young woman.”

She left his side and went to her open trunk, where she began to dig through the carefully packed contents.

Lucius turned back and looked into the mirror. He knew that to anyone else he must have looked ridiculous, a grown man stretching the seams of a school girl’s uniform with his hair in plaited pigtails, but he knew better. The refined, aristocratic features he’d inherited from generations of careful breeding were only highlighted by his androgyny. He felt his arousal returning as he drank in the sight of himself. Would it be improper to admit, even to himself, that he looked like a woman he’d want to fuck?

“Mister Malfoy?” he heard Pansy call. She had positioned herself on the edge of the bed and held a slim black bag in her lap. She patted the space next to her in invitation. “Would you like me to do your makeup?”

Without thinking, Lucius took an impulsive step forward. He stopped short, desire and the fear of exposing himself to greater embarrassment warring within him. Pansy sat patiently, wearing an encouraging smile that betrayed no scorn or contempt. 

He took another tentative step towards her. “I’ve never...” he said weakly, gesturing towards the bag in her hands.

“Well, I have,” she said with a small smile. “Every day, in fact. You can trust me, Mister Malfoy.”

Trust went against every natural instinct Lucius possessed, but the temptation was too great to deny. He sat where she had indicated, positioning himself awkwardly in an attempt to hide the tell-tale sign of his growing excitement. Pansy looked away politely, a faint blush creeping across her face. When he was settled, he cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him.

Lucius closed his eyes as she slathered a cold, flesh-toned cream across his face. He felt the gentle kiss of a soft bristled brush as it swept up his cheekbone, then flinched when he felt the touch of a firmer brush drag across the thin skin of his eyelid. She admonished him gently, telling him to hold still as she outlined his eye with a sharp kohl pencil. He stared at the ceiling as she rimmed the lower lids and darkened his eyelashes with a coarse mascara wand.

“Look at me,” she instructed gently.

Lucius lowered his gaze and watched her observe him. He could see her thinking as her eyes slid across his face, but he couldn’t read what those thoughts may be. He'd never felt so exposed, so _seen_ , as he did under her critical but impassive gaze. 

The thought of being seen _like this_ , of sharing this with someone, _anyone_ , caused the heat in his belly to flare acutely. He shifted in place, trying to keep his arousal at bay. They were already well beyond propriety; it would not do to lose the plot completely.

“My mother always says that too much makeup makes a young woman look cheap,” Pansy said as she rummaged through her bag. “You must choose between highlighting the eyes or the lips, otherwise you'll look like a two-knut Knockturn Alley whore.”

A surprised chuckled escaped Lucius; he didn't think he'd ever heard the girl use such coarse language. He’d never thought much of her, to be honest. She was pleasant and polite enough, the way a young pureblooded ought to be. And Draco had always seemed so fond of her. Maybe Lucius had been misguided in dismissing her so easily.

“We wouldn't want that,” he said with a tentative smile.

Pansy looked up at him and shook her head. “No, we wouldn't,” she agreed, her lips quirking. She pulled a small tube from her bag and took off the cap. The product inside was thick and wet looking, a pink so pale it was almost colorless. Squeezing a bit onto her forefinger, she instructed him to pout his lips.

Lucius closed his eyes and held his breath as she touched him. Despite the lack of oxygen in his chest, he could feel his heart begin to pound. Her touch was gentle, the slide of her finger as she smeared the sticky gloss across his lips sensual. It felt anything so forbidden -- so erotic -- and an involuntary moan escape him. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the line of her throat working as she swallowed, but she otherwise showed no sign of hearing his reaction.

“There,” she said as she screwed the cap back onto the tube of lipgloss. “All done.” She wiped her hands off on the counterpane and nodded towards the mirror. “Go look.”

Lucius felt unsteady on his feet as he rose. The short walk across the bedroom felt like a death march. What would he see when he looked in the mirror? Would he be transformed? Would he be beautiful? Or would he see straight through the illusion? Would there be nothing reflected in the mirror but a perverted old tosser?

When he saw himself, his breath caught in his throat. Any attempt to hide his response to his own reflection would have been futile; his rush of surprise and awe was followed swiftly by another sharp pang of longing. The neat fall of the pleated skirt was disturbed as his swelling erection tested the integrity of his knickers’ stitching. 

Lucius ran one hand the length of his torso. He couldn’t stop himself from grazing one nipple as he swept up; they had grown to hard pebbles underneath his clothes, and he could imagine them straining against the taut fabric of his bra. 

His heavy cock ached with the need to be touched, the burn in the pit of his belly growing painful. He closed his eyes and shuddered, hoping to commit this moment to memory, so that he would never forget this feeling or the vision that he made.

“You’re very pretty,” Pansy observed from behind him.

He’d almost forgotten she was still there. He hadn’t heard her creep to his side. He could feel himself blush slightly, but he was beyond the shame he’d felt when she first caught him in her room. He felt a strange sense of comfort and camaraderie with her. It was as though they shared a secret. In many ways, he guessed that they did.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Pansy’s hand travelled the line of his shoulders and down to his waist, smoothing the fabric. “May I ask you a question, Mister Malfoy?”

Apprehensively, Lucius nodded. 

“Why my school uniform?” she asked. “I have other things in my trunk: casual clothes for the weekends, lingerie I’ve ordered by Owl, a dress so tight that my mother would have kneazles if she ever saw it. Why this?”

Closing his eyes against her curious stare he shook his head. “I...I don’t know.”

When he reopened his eyes, the girl was looking at him thoughtfully. “I don’t believe you,” she said after a long moment, “but that’s fair. You don’t have to tell me.”

A part of him wanted to try to defend himself and his desires, but how could he explain something he didn’t quite understand himself? He didn’t know why he did this, why he needed it so badly. He didn’t know why he slipped into Narcissa’s dressing room when she went to lunch with a friend, why he grew hard at the thought of himself wrapped tightly in her gowns of chiffon and lace and silk. 

He didn’t know what drew him to Pansy’s uniform, and even if he had his own suspicions, how could he explain it to a girl who was still too young to appreciate the gift of her youth? All he knew was that once the thought had occurred to him, it’d become an obsession: a desperate desire that drove him to distraction.

“This doesn’t repulse you?” he forced himself to ask, though he felt slightly sick at the thought she might answer that it did. “You don’t think I’m some disgusting old pervert?”

Pansy smiled, a wry smile that twisted the corners of her mouth. “You’re not old, Mister Malfoy,” she said with a giggle. “And I know better than to judge. Let’s just say, you’re not the first Malfoy to nick a pair of my knickers.”

He stared at her, thunderstruck. She merely shrugged and stepped behind him. With her hands on his shoulders, she angled him back towards the mirror. “Look at yourself,” she whispered. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Lucius did as he was told, still taken slightly aback by the sight of himself in the mirror and the casual grace with which she accepted him.

She was a small girl, completely hidden from view behind the broad expanse of his body. But then her hands came into sight as they slid around his narrow waist, her fingers slipping beneath the jumper to trail along the thick band of the skirt, into which the blouse was tucked.

“I don't know why men seem to fixate on the idea of schoolgirls,” she said softly. “They think that we are all these innocent flowers, unaware that we are ripe for plucking. But we are aware, Mister Malfoy,” she whispered, her voice a low, seductive purr that made him dizzy. “We know the power that we hold.”

Lucius swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to her roaming hands. Even though her gentle caress was muted by layers of fabric, he felt as though her touch was burning his skin. 

He’d never had anyone to share this experience with; he couldn’t deny the strange thrill of being seen like this, even if it was by someone as wholly improper as his son’s girlfriend. He was torn between the impulse to jump out of her reach and the desire to urge her on.

He felt her rest her forehead against his back, a firm weight between his shoulder blades. And then she was tugging at the shirt, pulling it gently from underneath the skirt.

He made no move to stop her, just stood still and watched in the mirror as she untucked the blouse. Her hands moved down the sides of his narrow hips to his bare thighs. “But I can understand the appeal,” she continued, “if one thought that schoolgirls really were that naïve, that powerless. There is a certain freedom in powerlessness. Don't you agree, Mister Malfoy?”

Despite being asked a direct question, Lucius couldn't respond. He could only continue to stare, intoxicated by the sight and feel of her small, feminine hands moving across his body, dipping beneath the hem of his skirt.

“You don't have to be responsible for your decisions that way,” she continued, her voice growing thicker with every word, “because they're not really your decisions at all, are they? If someone were to do something to you, you’d have to just let them.”

She gripped the edge of the skirt and lifted, tucking it into the waistband so that the excess fabric was held neatly out of the way. Lucius trembled at the sight of his cock straining against the tight confines of the knickers. There was a dark patch in the center where his precome had stained the fabric.

Pansy appeared around the edge of his shoulders so she could peer into the mirror. Her face lit up with a delighted smile and she laughed. “I didn't even know I still had a plain white pair in there!”

She disappeared behind him again and her hands resumed their gentle journey, fingernails dragging slowly over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. She pressed the heel of her palm against the bulging knickers. Lucius let out a strangled gasp at the sensation that shot through him.

This couldn't be happening, he thought. He couldn't really be standing in the guest chambers wearing a stolen Hogwart's uniform, while Draco’s girlfriend fondled him through a pair of her own knickers. But it was happening. There was nothing magical about the mirror in front of him, its only power was to reflect the strange truth of reality.

He bit his lip to try and stifle his moan as Pansy peeled the knickers back, hooking the elastic behind his bollocks so that his bits were on full display. Engorged and reddened by blood and need, the evidence of his manhood jut out from his body in sharp contrast to the soft, feminine livery he wore.

Her tiny hand wrapped around his shaft and moved slowly, pumping his length at a leisurely pace. He could feel his knees weakening as he fought to stay standing, but he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the feel of her clever hands pulling and twisting and coaxing him to a painful hardness. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a groan.

“No,” Pansy urged, “look at yourself, Mister Malfoy. Look at how pretty you are. Look at how beautiful you are when I touch you.”

With monumental effort, Lucius returned his gaze to the mirror and watched. He heard the ruffle of fabric behind him. Her grip slackened for a moment as she took a step back, and then he felt the firm press of something sharp between his buttocks. There was a whispered incantation, the strange sticky sensation of her localized spell, and then the soft clatter of wood hitting the floor.

“How do you know that spell?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Pansy's hands gripped the edges of the knickers and pulled them down his legs, until they fell to a crumpled pile at his ankles. “Does it really matter right now?” she asked in answer.

If Lucius planned on pressing the issue, his ambition was forgotten as he felt her free hand press between his shoulder blades, urging him to bend slightly at the waist. Every muscle in his body pulled tight as he felt her hand slide down his back and trace the crack between his arsecheeks.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“What I want,” she replied huskily. “That's what men love about schoolgirls, isn't it?” she asked. “They think we’re so pliable and willing, too shy and unsure to object. Isn’t that why you’re dressed up in my uniform? Isn’t that what you want to be?”

The hand she had wrapped around his cock began to move again, her swift pulls firmer this time. Lucius held his breath as the other hand slid between his legs from behind. She cupped his sac in her hand, rolling his sac in her palm.

“But what men don't understand about schoolgirls,” she continued as she dragged her fingers across his perineum, pausing to press firmly against the thin strip of skin that connected his sac to his arsehole, “is that we enjoy being fucked, almost as much as people enjoy fucking us. Do you think you’ll enjoy being fucked, Mister Malfoy?”

“Oh, God,” Lucius whimpered. He knew he really shouldn't want this as desperately as he did. It was sick and perverse and wrong on so many levels, but the sharp spiral of anticipation he felt made his stomach flip and his mind go empty.

“Relax,” she cooed as her fingers slid back further and began to trace the rim of his arsehole, spreading the viscous liquid she’d conjured with her whispered spell. “Trust me, love. I won't hurt you.”

A small gasp escaped him as she pressed a finger into him. She was gentle, and true to her word it didn't hurt. It was an odd sensation. It felt almost wrong -- backwards even -- but that sense of wrongness only added to the perverse sensuality, making it feel so perfectly right.

There was a slight flare of discomfort as she retreated and twisted her hand, trying to find the correct angle, but her other hand compensated for the feeling with a harsh, distracting tug.

“Tell me when,” she whispered. Lucius almost didn't understand her meaning, but then he felt the single digit inside him curl and begin to press against the interior walls of his rectum.

“Oh, God,” he said with a sharp inhale.

He could hear the humor in her voice when she said, “I think you mean, _'Oh, Pansy.'_ ”

“Yes,” Lucius agreed thoughtlessly as he closed his eyes again to focus on the dual sensations of one hand steadily pulling him off and another stroking him from the inside.

Although he knew what she was searching for, he was unprepared for the sharp burst of pleasure that suddenly shot through his groin when she found it. He stumbled slightly, completely thrown by the unexpected feeling. The hand on his cock fell away and grasped at his hip, helping to steady him. 

“I've got you,” she said reassuringly. She increased the pressure as she rubbed inside him and whispered, “There?”

Lucius was unable to do much more than nod. He couldn't focus on anything except for the feel of her finger curled inside of him, stroking the walls of his passage. It was a heady sensation, one that made his already hardened cock swell to herculean proportions. And even though the hand not currently tucked between his legs had abandoned its post on his cock, he could have sworn it still felt as though someone were touching him there, a ghostly sensation teasing the sensitive web of skin just below his glans.

A long, thin strand of precome began to seep from the slit of his purpled crown. He opened his eyes to watch in the mirror as it lengthened under the weight of gravity's pull, until the tension became too much and it snapped in two. The bottom half fell to the ground, splattering onto the rounded toe of his unbuckled shoe.

God, the way he looked.

“Touch yourself,” Pansy instructed in a throaty whisper.

Another undignified whimper escaped Lucius as he curled his hand around his throbbing cock. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; his cock felt hypersensitive, almost too tender to be touched. The acute pleasure bordered on painful. The aching need to come was excruciating. He could stand little more than holding himself in a loose fist.

Another uncomfortable twist, and then he felt himself stretched wider as Pansy slipped another finger inside. She resumed her massage, her strokes becoming more vigorous as her press became firmer.

Lucius felt dizzy and delirious, completely detached from his surroundings as his world narrowed to nothing more than the electric sensation that radiated from behind his bollocks and coursed through the length of his prick. He gasped, desperate for breath, as the pressure and pleasure built.

He had no control over it, no say in the matter. His arousal took a hairpin turn and then burst forth from within him, bringing with it thick, heavy ropes of ejaculate that shot from him with more blinding force than he'd ever experienced. His stomach dropped, his toes curled in his shoes. His eyes shot open, only to roll back, his vision darkening.

The power of his release would have brought him to his knees if it hadn't been for the firm grip of Pansy's arm around the waist, anchoring his body against hers.

The comedown was slow, but eventually his other senses returned to him, though slightly dulled. Pansy was still hidden behind him in the mirror, her fingers still pressed inside his arse. She whispered placating nothings intended to soothe against his back as she twisted and withdrew her hand.

Lucius stumbled when she released her hold around his waist, but her little hands shot up to grab his shoulders. 

“Steady on, old man,” she teased.

She appeared next to him in the mirror as she untucked the skirt and let the fabric fall back down, hiding his heavy, spent cock from sight. Lucius studied her face as she ran her hands across his chest in the pretense of smoothing out the wrinkles in his jumper.

He knew he should feel embarrassed, standing there with come dripping down his thighs and a pair of white knickers around his ankles, but he didn't. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before those ugly feelings of shame and guilt crept back, but at the moment the only thing he felt was a burning curiosity. 

“Why?” he asked.

Pansy looked up at him, her face flushed and her mouth opened as though she was going to respond, but she thought better of it. Instead she shrugged and asked, “Does it really matter?”

That was no kind of answer, so Lucius waited patiently, hoping she’d fill the silence with something more illuminating. She shifted awkwardly. It amused him to think that was more uncomfortable under his patient gaze than she’d been with her fingers in his arse. 

When it became apparent he wasn’t going to let the subject drop, she averted her eyes and mumbled, “I was trying to be nice. I just didn’t want you to think you had to be embarrassed about it...Though I might have gotten a bit carried away,” she added, blushing.

Before he could answer, she’d abandoned his side and walked back to the bed. “You can keep my uniform, if you'd like. I have others back at school,” she said, suddenly brisk and businesslike, making it clear that any further discussion of her motivations was over. The only thing that betrayed her composure were her hands, which shook as she collected the tubes and vials of makeup that were scattered across the mattress.

Unsure of what else to do or say, Lucius just nodded. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “And you won’t...”

She approached him again and stood on her tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Don't worry, Mister Malfoy. Your secret is safe with me.”

Although this was technically her room during the duration of her stay, she left him and walked towards the door. “You can stay in here as long as you'd like,” she said as she turned the doorknob. “I think I'm going to spend the night in Draco's chambers,” she said.

That was strictly against the house rules, but Lucius wasn't in any moral position to argue at the moment, and judging by her cheeky smile she knew it. He bid her to have a good night, which she returned with a lewd, “Oh, I’m planning on it.”

When the door shut behind her, Lucius turned back towards the mirror with a heavy sigh. The night's events would take some time to process; they still seemed unreal, as if they’d happened in a dream, or to somebody else. 

How would he be able to look her in the face tomorrow? How could she be so blasé about this? Was she really going to slip into his son’s bed, as if nothing had happened? Were young people these days embarrassed by nothing?

But there was one outstanding question that worried him more than the others combined. Could he really count on the girl's discretion?

There was another soft click. In the mirror, he saw the door open once more. His heart stopping for the second time that night at the prospect of being discovered.

He released a shaky breath when Pansy's head reappeared, poking through the door frame. 

“I’ll need the shoes back though,” she called, “they're my favorite pair. And if you don't mind,” she added, sending the a pointed glance at his feet, “when you transfigure them back to my size, would you also cast a _strong_ Scourgify?”

Despite his current ensemble, Lucius wasn’t a man who much enjoyed being sassed. Drawing himself to full height and mustering as much authority in his voice as could be reasonably expected from a man in a schoolgirl’s skirt, he said, “ _Goodnight_ , Miss Parkinson.”

She giggled. There was something in her knowing, impish grin that made Lucius believe she would truly keep his secret. Maybe she was right, and he really didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about at all. 

“Goodnight, Mister Malfoy,” she singsonged as the door shut behind her.

With a scowl, Lucius turned, once again, to the mirror. There was one thing he'd forgotten since his schooldays: how bloody annoying teenage girls could be.


End file.
